


Ben and the Not-Quite-A-Wolf

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 06:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16634609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The last thing M'Terra O'Donnell needed was a mandated 'Clan Quest', but that's what she'd ended up with.  Now, standing at the door of the Packhouse of the Columbia Basin Pack, she really wondered how this was going to turn out.  Werewolves were such touchy individuals sometimes!For any random Garrison's Gorillas readers, this takes place long after the end of the war, far enough down the road that it is Craig and Goniff's granddaughter taking up weapons to fight against the foe.  Of course, Craig and Goniff DO make an appearance.





	Ben and the Not-Quite-A-Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly a Mercy Thompson Series/Clan O'Donnell story, but with strong GG crossover in main lead character. Craig Garrison and Goniff do make an appearance, of course.
> 
> This is a one-off for me. I usually write for the Garrison's Gorillas, and Hogan's Heroes crew, (along with my own Clan O'Donnell), though there are a few one-off exceptions (Man From Uncle/Girl From Uncle, The Persuaders). Clan O'Donnell does get around, though, and after reading 'Redemption', the 'Ben' short story in Patricia Briggs 'Shifting Shadows', this cross-over story came to me. 
> 
> For those not familiar with the GG and HH strings (originating with the two television series from the sixties), Goniff and Craig are from the original GG team. Peter and Andrew (along with Marya Parmanova) mentioned, if not actually appearing in this story, are from the HH team.

It was a typical evening at the Alpha's house, him, the family, assorted members of the pack. When the knock came at the door, Warren answered it without hesitation; he'd have been able to smell if it had been trouble, or so he'd thought. He later rethought that assumption. 

She stood there, calmly, half smile on her face, "if I might so trouble you, I've come to pay my respects to the Alpha. It seems I've trespassed into his territory, though that was not my original intention, and I've no wish to cause hard feelings," her voice having a soft lilt, one he'd not heard before, not Irish, not Scots, something similar but different somehow. 

He sniffed, not picking up any hint of werewolf, and that being the only creature that might need to answer to the Alpha. Still, there was something, something 'furry' about that scent. "And who'm I supossed ta tell him is call'n, M'am?" taking refuge in cowboy politeness to cover his confusion. 

"I am called M'Terra, of the O'Donnell, the Shantai," the smile not changing. 

He sniffed at her, not hiding his actions this time. "You're not . . ." 

The smile turned into a grin, "well, no, not exactly," followed by a warm chuckle, "close, but NOT close," as my grandfathers once said." And she walked into the room occupied by some fifteen werewolves, moved unerringly toward the Alpha, {"well, an Alpha is an Alpha the world round, and there's no mistaking one"}, and made a formal bow, "Greetings, Adam Hauptmann, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack. I am called M'Terra. I stand before you in humble apology for trespassing into your realm. I mean no harm to you and yours, and wish to request permission to remain here while I pursue my Quest. My Clan will make appropriate reparations, of course, for any damage I might do during my stay." 

Adam was a little startled; most people, when they asked permission to pay a visit, didn't make a point, right up front, of admitting they might be causing some damage during that time. Seems like it might make the potential host a little leary. He looked at the young woman, medium height, red hair in a coil around her head, nothing special about her, didn't seem too dangerous, but as he knew quite well, well, who better? dangerous didn't always show on the surface. "Damage?" 

"Yes, well, things happen sometimes, you know," she admitted with a rueful look, remembering Argentina (both San Rafael and Cordoba), and Dublin, and Berlin, Cartegena for sure, and well, there was that time in London, though she refused to take FULL responsibility for that. And the other places, well, they didn't really count, did they?? There wasn't all THAT much damage! She shook her head, bringing her thoughts back to the situation at hand. "There is something I need to find, and then, something I need to do; the trail led to Seattle, and then, suddenly things changed, and" with a shrug, "here I am." 

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

She shrugged and heaved a huge tired sigh, and said with massive exasperation, "beats the bloody hell outta me!" And everyone stared. 

Mercy frowned at the small grill on the wall, "what do you mean, you think she's one of mine? A Walker? Are you sure?" 

"Well, she's not a werewolf, and she smells like canine and fur and came to introduce herself to the Alpha of the Pack as 'a politeness' since she's needing to be in his area! He thought maybe you'd be able to tell us more," came Darryl's annoyed voice through the intercom. "And you need to hurry, because she's got Ben really, really pissed, and you know how well that's likely to go!" 

They both knew their British werewolf had become much more an integral part of the pack, certainly pulled his own weight, and was someone Mercy trusted, well, up to a point, but he was a dominant werewolf, he still had his issues and one hell of a temper if someone pushed the right buttons. And he didn't have any trouble yanking someone's chain just for the hell of it, if he got bored. So, yeah, getting him pissed probably wasn't a good thing. She hurried.

M'Terra had made her bow to the Alpha, now she spared the time to look around the room, at the others lounging, sitting, standing, all watching her carefully. One was human, but he smelled strongly of the werewolf who'd opened the door; she thought they belonged to each other. {"It does happen, though I'd not have thought so with the werewolves, especially with them both males. Certainly does happen with us, as often as not, that and other variations to be sure."} She could smell at least one more human in the house, but there was no fear in the smell, so she'd think that one was here of their own free will. 

She looked at those around the room, feeling as if she was supposed to be recognizing something, someone, but she knew no one in this part of the country, at least, as far as she knew, and there were no artifacts making themselves known to her, as they surely would have, some in the past in the most annoyingly inconvenient fashion. 

Then, her eyes stopped, and she looked at him, the young blond man, maybe mid-to-late-twenties, at least when he was turned anyway, at the sneer on his face, at the anger hidden just below the surface, and the more deeply hidden constantly swirling heated circle of pain and fear and panic and guilt, like a medallion of red and orange and black spinning rapidly at the end of an invisible chain. And she saw the more open contempt for what she represented, though she wasn't sure just what it was about her that he despised so. It wasn't that the reaction was unknown to her, just that usually someone had to know her for a bit longer before it emerged! Alright, so she wasn't Little Mary Sunshine, tough. 

She stepped towards him before the others, startled at her approach to him, out of all the wolves, could stop her, could tell her that was a really bad idea - drawn, unthinking, unknowing, and asked him, before she could stop herself, in a very low voice, "who do I need to kill, ma faol?" 

The words, her tone, the intent look in her eye, her approach itself, they all spooked him. His eyes widened, whites showing too much now. He backed away til he was against the wall, "*!*@&#*@&, I am not YOUR *@&@(!*@#($ WOLF, you #&@(**$&#&@!" to see the young redhead, instead of cringing back, appalled at his words, instead shaking her head in wry amusement. {"No? I rather think you are! At least, I think you were what I was sent to find, to protect; certainly not that which I was sent to put an end to. At least, you'd better not be; I think that would break my heart! Grandmother, sometimes . . ." } thinking back to that summons to the ancient hall where the Grandmother, leader of their Clan lived.

***

"You need to make a journey, child. The United States," raising her eyebrows at the automatic protest coming from the young woman facing her. "You will let me continue? Good. I do like to maintain the illusion that I am still in charge around here! As I was saying, the United States, Washington State, in the area of Seattle, I believe. There is something you need to find; consider it a Clan Quest. You will see Deashjean, in the office; she will have all the paperwork, travel arrangements, everything you need." 

"But why?" M'Terra asked. No, questioning the Grandmother wasn't the smartest thing to do, but she'd had PLANS, plans that didn't include an impromptu visit to Seattle, Washington.

"I told you, I need you to find something, well, two somethings, actually, one you will find and protect, one you will find and put an end to." 

Pushing past that boundry of her common sense, she protested, "but you didn't say what!" only to have that much older woman raise those autocratic eyebrows, and get a haughty look on her face. 

"I was unaware I was under an obligation to tell you ANYTHING. You have a Clan Quest, you will go forth and search for that which is meant to be found." The old woman turned away back to the files on her broad desk and M'Terra knew the interview was over. 

She shook her head in frustration, and walked out to see her second cousin who acted as assistant to the Grandmother. "Sometimes, 'Shjean, sometimes . . ." and the young woman snorted. "Tell me about it! Here, everything you'll need's in here." 

"Including just what the heck I'm supposed to be 'Questing' for?" 

"Well, no, not that. Good luck, cousin, I sincerely mean that!" and the two looked back at the door, and gave almost identical sighs.

>p>***

She returned to The Cottages, "you know something, Grandda, Granddad, sometimes I really have to wonder. I mean, is all the mystery really necessary??! I have a 'Quest', though no one can tell me what it is, or exactly where it is, though it seems I'm headed to somewhere on the West Coast of the United States to find it! She couldn't just say, 'Go, protect XYZ, put an end to JKL'? No, I'm to 'search for that which is meant to be found', 'protect the one, destroy the other'!" 

Craig Garrison and Goniff Grainger looked at their granddaughter, pacing and gesturing widely in her annoyance, and laughed in unison. Meghada had told them something of this summons, and Randy had had great fun relating HIS little discussion with the Grandmother about his youngest daughter, "I swear, I'm glad Louisa and I 'ad things settled between us so early on; don't like to think of 'er meddling in MY love life, I don't. And I don't know why she's taking it upon 'erself now, either. M'Terra is only twenty. Alright, so that's a bit late for most of our women, unless there are unusual circumstances like the War was for you and for Louisa's parents, but it's not unheard of either. And not everyone DOES Bond!" 

He and his Louisa were one of the rare couples with only a couple of years difference in their ages, there usually being twelve years or more, sometimes much more; first cousins, it had been apparent early on that they would choose each other, and had Bonded as soon as circumstances allowed. 

His mother spoke up from the doorway, unsuccessfully trying to hide her amusement and her concern, "seems one of those who far-see had a rather disturbing vision. Something about if she and the one she's meant to Claim don't meet soon, that one will perish body and soul, which will prevent that joining for all time, this life and all others, and that's something we don't like to see happen. Along with some general mass destruction they saw, that she's to prevent, they think; it might be some general mass destruction she's to cause. With that one, it's sometimes a bit of a tossup, you know. Anyway, you know how these things go with the far-seeing, sometimes they see a lot, sometimes only hints, and always think too much information can change the course of what should happen. And the Grandmother, well, I think she just likes messing with us all sometimes," she admitted with a laugh. 

She looked at these three men she loved so dearly, one her oldest son, the other two his fathers, thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong, so many ways their life together could have been changed for the worse, might never have happened at all . . . 

Something of what she was thinking crossed her face, and Goniff held out his hand to her, pulling her into his lap. Closer to 80 than to 75 now, as slender as ever, though not getting around quite so well after that fall from the roof at the Mansion last month, and what he'd been doing on the roof, well, she knew better than to ask. He was healing, and she fully expected to soon find him in some out of the way place once again doing heaven knows what. "I know, luv, but remember, some things, they're just meant to be," and he grinned at her, that wide grin she loved so much, so full of mischief still after all these years. 

Craig gave a little laugh, "And The Day Shall Come," and shook his head in amusement at his two loves. He frowned at the smaller man whose hair was now flaxen mixed with silver, "but too damned fast if you keep climbing those clay tiles when they're wet! I knew I should have gone with you that trip, should have stopped you before you did something like that!" Younger than Goniff, older than Meghada, still trying to take responsibility for anything that went wrong, still being gently scolded out of that by Meghada, teased and comforted out of it by the older man. 

Randy rolled his eyes, listening to them, {"Seriously, these three!"} but not really meaning it. Their love, the sheer stability of their love, the love from their friends and family, he wouldn't trade that for anything. {"I'm lucky, me and Louisa are lucky, my brothers and sisters, we're all lucky. Our parents, they gave us everything we needed, taught us what we needed to know; because of that, we 'ave each other, and our kids, well, they 'ave what they need too!"}. Louisa, Louisa Maude, his cousin, his Bonded mate, his love. Her parents too had this kind of solid base, this love; Peter, Caeide, Andrew, her parents, they had taught her well, taught all their children well. Their oldest son, Jamie, Randy's best friend and Louisa's twin, he agreed, and so did his Bonded mate, Nicola, one of those Clan raised, if not Clan blood.

Now, facing their granddaughter, Clan to the bone, they just teased her out of her frustration, made her laugh with all the possible scenarious of what she was supposed to find and protect, including the recipe for Starbucks' Egyptian Roast frozen mocha, the secret to Dick's Burgers jalapeno sauce, or ooh, the spawning ground of the great geoduck! She snorted at that, like any of the Clan ever needed the supposed aphrodisiac properties of that prehistoric clam, especially this set of grandparents, or the other set as well!! {"What, nineteen children between them, including eight sets of twins??!" And my grandma's parents, Greatgrandma and Geedad? They had fourteen!"} - and what she was to put an end to - bacon maple donuts, maybe? The manufacture of spandex? Or that ludicrous real estate tycoon with the silly hair that kept making the society pages, but then, he was based out of New York, wasn't he? And their absurdity helped her think of this more of an adventure than she had previously. {"Well, I might as well. Obviously I'm not going to get out of it!"}, she thought to herself with some belated amusement. {"Just call me Bilbo! I'm sure as hell not bloody Mary Poppins!"}, thinking of the books she'd loved to have her Grandda Goniff read to her when she was little. Now, Grandad Craig, he was more likely to read to her from Polyaenus or Sun Tzu, engaging and useful, of course, but not nearly so much fun! Now, Granda Peter, he'd taught her card tricks and naughty songs, while GrandDaddy Andrew had told her marvelous stories about clouds, and the Sioux tribe he'd been partially raised in, and more stories about animals than she could ever recall. She did love them so! 

***

Now, facing the almost fragile looking blond foul-mouthed Englishman, the one with such dark emotions tangling his soul, his spirit, she knew she'd found one of the two things what she was meant to find. The urge to stand between him and any threat, past, present, future, was just too strong for there to be any doubt. Now, just what she was supposed to DO about it, she hadn't a clue! She was pretty sure, though, calling him 'ma faol', 'my wolf', at their first meeting, hadn't really helped. {"Well, at least I only called him 'ma faol', not 'ma faol ashtore', my treasured wolf, or 'macushla faol', my beloved wolf, or something worse; didn't reach out to brush that hair back off his face like I wanted to, didn't . . ." Wonder if I can put if off as just an expression, one you'd use for any old stray werewolf you happened to come across. Hmmm, worth a try, if anyone asks. Sure! Innocent, look innocent, girl,"} she told herself. 'Innocent' was about as natural to one of the Clan as 'subtle', of course, but it was worth a try; after all, these WERE strangers. They might not know any better.

Adam Hauptmann, well, he wasn't too happy about this young woman who'd shown up on his doorstep out of nowhere, and the interaction with Ben could prove to be an issue. Ben wasn't one to antagonize, though none of the wolves were, of course, but Ben didn't have really good control, and he didn't favor women much, even now. 

Adam had invited her to sit down, and had started to question her further, when his daughter Jesse brought him his cell phone. Her eyes were big, and she whispered softly, as if that meant anything in a room full of beings able to hear that whisper even if she'd been in the farthest room of the house. "The Marrok, he says he has to speak with you." 

Mercy was coming in the back door, and he motioned her to take his place, "find out as much as you can," he murmured, noting the young redhead seemed amused by all the whispering. He wondered if her hearing was as good as everyone else's, though he knew she wasn't a werewolf. Well, neither was Mercy, but . . . He moved to the kitchen, "Yes, Bran?" 

"You should be expecting a visitor, a young woman," came a calm voice from the telephone.

"Redhead, says she's M'Terra of the O'Donnells, the Shantai?" Adam asked, with a deep sigh. 

Silence, then an equally deep sigh. "I see she's already arrived. Yes, well, I'd hoped to be able to speak with you first, but somehow it doesn't surprise me. They DO tend to be rather intent when they are on Quest." 

"They?" 

"As she told you, she's one of the Shantai. I believe you might have heard of them as Moon-Walkers? They tend to refer to themselves informally as Clan." 

That did ring a bell, but not a strong one. Then his eyebrows tried to meet his hairline. "Celtic Shapeshifters, but not Were's? I thought they were legends." 

Bran snorted, "aren't we all??! Us, Mercy, the fae, the vampires, goblins, demons and all else. Well, the Clan is as much legend as we are, and every bit as real. Their leader contacted me, asked my indulgence. She's sent this one on a Quest, something to do with a foretelling. It seems as if it will affect us, in one way or another, though she was rather cryptic, which is about par with them. The Oracle at Delphii was more straightforward!" 

"She said something about the Clan making reparations for any damages?" 

Another sigh, "well, things have been known to get out of hand, their leader termed it 'a bit mussed', sometimes when one of them is around. Especially this one, it seems. Just make a list," and Adam held the phone away from his head and looked at it as if wondering just WHO was on the other end, since it couldn't be Bran. "Make a list, alright," he said, playing along. "What else do I need to know? She's already upset Ben, called him 'ma faol', asking him who she needs to kill." 

And was shocked to hear the Marrok give a startled laugh, "Ben? Oh, this should be interesting, Adam. Please do keep me posted." And the line went dead.

Mercy had taken the young woman to one of the back rooms, "show me, if you please." At the imperious raising of that head, she shook her own head in frustration, "you can't think I can explain this to THEM without me being sure, and I can't be, not unless you show me, show me and Adam and preferable them too." 

She paused and asked, "are you body shy? You can use the bathroom, if you like," motioning with her head toward a door. 

A faint flush now, "I'll do that, with no offense intended," and moved off, closing the door quietly behind her. 

Mercy felt Adam's approach, "where is she," he asked, not liking a stranger being unattended in his home. 

"In there, changing. Seems she's body shy," and his eyebrows lifted. That wasn't something he was used to with the wolves. They settled down to wait, most of the wolves taking up to half an hour to change, though Mercy didn't have that limitation, of course, but to their shock, almost immediately the door knob rattled, then opened, held in the teeth of a green eyed creature, long-legged, wolf-like in appearance except for the odd ripples in the skin at her shoulders and, well, the fact that unlike the long thick coat she had elsewhere, the red hair on her very, very long curved and arching and occasionally looping tail was short, close to the skin, except for that luxurious tuft at the end that swayed high above her back. Mercy thought it looked rather like an exaggerated male lion's tail. 

She stood looking at them, head held high; Mercy and Adam walked closer, eyeing those furry ripples, seeing the strength and grace in her body. They motioned to her, and she proceeded back to the main room, where all conversation stopped in shock. Ben was leaning in the corner, still frowning. He watched the tall red not-quite-a-wolf enter the room, her green eyes watching everyone carefully, catching at his own blue eyes for a moment, then moving on. 

Warren looked at her, frowing, "and what's that?" motioning at her sides. She looked at him, tilted her head, and he could have sworn she grinned at him. Suddenly the folds twitched, and with a rustling sound, they unfolded, the fur and skin wings arching up like a giant bird of prey. 

From Ben came only one phrase, one she'd heard all her life, learned from two of her grandfathers, one on her father's side, her Grandda Goniff, one on her mother's, her Grandda Peter, - "bloody hell!", then repeated even more violently, "BLOODY HELL!"and inside she wanted to giggle, though the sound came out more of a purring gurgling hiss. 

They came forward, not all of them, but some, to reach out and touch, and although she didn't really feel comfortable with that, she allowed it; the girl Jesse seemed particularly intrigued by the texture of the fur on her wing tips. Ben wasn't one of those who came to stroke her, but he looked, moved away from the wall to look closer, from other angles, the puzzlement on his face, the sheer incredulity growing with every step. The two humans seemed to be taking it more in stride. {"Well, I guess if you are comfortable with the notion of werewolves, you have already opened up the window to other things."}. 

She furled her wings tightly against her sides, looked up at the Walker, and turned to go back and assume her other form. She rather had enjoyed the look on that one's face, her wolf; he hadn't seemed frightened, well, of course not, duh, werewolf! She wasn't sure just what that expression meant, but she was sure she'd find out. She wondered what his wolf looked like.

He looked at Adam, "she's got wings? She's got fucking bloody wings?? And what the fuck is with that tail??! Just what the bloody hell IS she??!" Adam, his Alpha, just shrugged, knowing this wasn't disrespect, just shock. Well, shock, plus just him being Ben. 

"She's Clan, one of the Shantai, a Moon-Walker, according to Bran. He seems fine with her being here, wants us to cooperate as best we can." He didn't mention that amusement he'd heard in the Marrok's voice; he hadn't understood it himself, and certainly didn't want to be trying to explain it. 

Ben's eyes had gotten all strange again, and he looked at Adam, for once forgetting to curse, "My old alpha, he had a run-in with one of them; well, with the whole lot of them, seems if you have a quarrel with one, it's with all. Sent him a message. Seems they had something they wanted him to do, a problem they wanted him to fix; some in our territory who they thought had been eyeing a couple of their youngsters, up to no good; Giles, he said no, it wasn't his concern, they didn't want someone diddling their brats, they could see to it themselves! Then one of them came to visit, private meeting. Next thing we knew, we're looking for those who've caused the trouble, handed over the ones who'd given them grief. Warned everyone else, his Pack, those around, through their Alphas, anyone causing him to have ANOTHER such meeting, he'd personally gut." He frowned, "never said anything about them looking like THAT!" 

Adam looked at him, "do you know her, had any contact before tonight?" to get a fast head-shake. "No bleedin way, nor would I want to have. Anyone could get old Giles looking that sickly, that's no one to have anything to do with!" 

{"Yet, she called him 'my wolf'. Hmmm"}

***

{"Elizaveta Arkadyevna, her name is, Russian, witch, powerful."}, M'Terra pulled the information out of the vast quanity of material she'd researched on the trip over. She nodded her head respectfully at the newcomer. It wasn't a full bow, of course, or even the half-bow she'd given the Alpha; the Clan had no great affection for the witches, though it was always good to treat them with respect; well, right up to the time when you had to kill them, which seemed to happen with depressing regularity. 

She was wondering why she was still in the Alpha's house, when she'd intended to leave after her introduction; well, yes, she rather hated to leave, wanting to hear more of that voice, even with all the curses, but she had no real reason to stay. Actually, the cursing didn't bother her, in and of itself, except she could tell it was the safety valve on that molten core of his, and it bothered her that he needed that. She'd have been content enough with the cursing if she knew it was just habit or an affectation, but that he NEEDED it, that was something else. 

Well, SHE needed to find a place, somewhere to set up a base while she tried to figure out what to do about the first part of her Quest, now slumped on the wide sofa, staring at her, and figure out what the second part of her Quest consisted of. Still, when she'd been asked to stay for dinner, the grin she'd not been able to overcome told them what she was thinking, and the one called Kyle, the human, had snickered and said, "no, I think we'd already planned on having pizza!" and she had laughed with him. His partner had been watchful, on edge, and she knew he wondered if she was flirting, and when Warren had reached forward to drop a nuzzling on the human's neck, she knew he was feeling territorial, giving her a warn-off. Some of the wolves were uncomfortable with that display of affection, she could tell; she knew most of the wolves had strong opinions about such. Well, she did too, just not the same opinions. 

She smiled, and the one who talked like a cowboy raised an eyebrow in challenge, and she chuckled and responded, "yes, he's pretty, he is, and he's yours; I respect your Claim, wolf, and mean no harm." 

"You don't seem offended by that, m'am, and my name's Warren," he offered, and she snorted just a bit, "Warren, you've not seen anything til you take a stroll through my family tree!" 

The witch, lips pursed with disapproval, spit out her comment. "Yes, that would be true. M'Terra, daughter of Randall and Louisa, granddaughter of those pairings!" She fairly spit the words at M'Terra. The others looked at the witch, at the girl and back again. The only surprise was that the witch bothered to explain; she wasn't big on unnecessary explanations. "Her father is the product of a union between a Clanswoman and two men, both men contributing to his birth somehow, and all three sharing their beds equally still. It is said her grandmother on that side is a Dragon, though both of the men she chose are full human, one American, one English, that one being considered MacTire, human with an unrealized wolf." 

Several brows went up at that, and Adam made a mental note to ask Bran about that; he'd never heard the term before. "Her mother is the product of a union between a Clanswoman and the two men she shares, perhaps both of them also contributing to her birth! There also, those men are lovers of each other as well as with her. It is said her grandmother on that side is a Wolf, though both of the men she chose are full humans, one English, one American as well. The grandmothers, they are full sisters, and their own lineage no more appropriate! They are abominations, as is she!" Silence. 

{"Well, so much for keeping things polite!"} M'Terra responded with a wide showing of teeth, certainly not a smile, "and we love you too, Elizaveta Arkadyevna." 

The old woman growled, and turned to the Alpha, "what is she doing here, and what did you summon me? If you think to replace my services with hers, you must know she hasn't the skills, the power I have, cannot do for you what I do, would not lower herself to do for you what I do!" 

Adam frowned, "Elizaveta, I had no thought of that. And I didn't call for you to come here." 

She stood looking at him, "there was a call, my nephew said that it was requested that I come," and looked around the room, to see the shake of heads from everyone there. 

"No one here would have called, could have called without my knowing about it," he assured her, and she knew that to be the truth. 

She turned to the young woman once more, demanded, "what do you here, girl?"

{"Wonder if she thinks that will put me in my place,"} M'Terra thought with some amusement. "I am on a Clan Quest, though as usual, with not nearly as much information as I'd like. As far as I know, witch, it does not involve you, but as I said, I'm rather lacking in information at this point." 

With that her cellphone rang and she pulled it out of her pocket, asking permission of the Alpha with the expression on her face.

{"Bad Moon Rising??? Really???"} more than one of those present thought, and a few snickers were heard. She looked around with a rueful shrug, before pressing the button, "it's the Grandmother; you expected maybe "A Spoonful of Sugar??" {"Though I should consider that, wonder if she would find that annoying or amusing??"} She could tell by that sly grin on Jesse's face that the girl had just about read her mind, and she returned that grin with one of her own. 

"Yes. Yes, Grandmother, I've arrived and made contact with the Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack. YES, Grandmother, I did, and may I say you certainly have retained your sense of humor." She winced and held the cellphone away from her ear, though with a mischievious grin that would have been well familiar to her family, one she inherited from her father and one of his two fathers before him. Slowly the grin faltered, then disappeared entirely. Her part of the conversation was held in English, as a courtesy to those here; the Grandmother spoke in the home tongue, of course, so although all here, well except for the humans, could hear her words, they wouldn't understand them. 

"Here? One of those things here? Does the Alpha know, their witch know?", looking at those two quickly. The frown on her face was impressive now, "Elizaveta Arkadyevna, yes." Her eyes widened, "Are you sure you want me to . . ." Now her eyes rolled, and she shook her head, "Yes, of course, if you say you want me to tell her that, then you are quite sure. No, Grandmother, I've never known you to not know your own mind. Yes, Grandmother. Yes, Grandmother. Of course, Grandmother." She turned the phone off, and snorted, "FAMILY!", (which elicited a giggle from Jesse, knowing the feeling quite well), put it in her pocket, and reluctantly turned to the Alpha, to the witch. 

"Did you know you have a Soul Catcher on the loose around here?" And just that quickly, everything hit the fan, the witch denying any such thing, the Alpha demanding someone tell him what she was talking about, Mercy turning pale and sitting down on the sofa beside Jesse. She'd read about those in the book she'd borrowed from the Fae. 

The redhead listened to the turmoil, and when it all died down, and heads turned back to her, she sighed, and said to the witch, "and the Grandmother said to tell you 'Marya Parmanova and her children, and her children's children send their regards'," squinching her eyes and hunching her shoulders just a bit, in preparation. When no explosion came, she opened her eyes fully and looked at the open mouth of the old woman facing her. 

Finally, a slow nod, "very well, I acknowledge the debt. You will call on me as you need while you are here," and turned and walked out the door, leaving a room full of dropped jaws and staring eyes. 

Adam hurried after her, and caught up to her as she stepped off the porch. "Elizaveta? What . . .?" 

She seemed older than usual, but she answered him, "Marya Parmanova is family, my cousin, talented but not a witch. She disappeared toward the end of WWII; we received a message only that she was well and with friends, then no more. The work she'd done against the Nazi's, well, it made her enemies, with the Soviets even as well as elsewhere, hypocrites that they are; perhaps even more, it brought her to the attention of those who sought to use her for their own ends. It was understood she felt it was necessary for her to disappear, and not return; now that I remember, she had had some contact with the Clan earlier, trained some of their youngsters; it would make sense for her to take refuge with them, yet, somehow, it had not occurred to us. They have power of their own, of course; perhaps they saw to it that it did not occur to us." 

"And a 'soul catcher'?" 

"A device, a thing, powered by magic, that can trap the soul, tear it from the body, leaving the body open to possession by the demon using it. Sometimes, there is more than one demon, working the device, one after another. Those who lose their souls that way, they are thereafter only vessels, but the more powerful they were when whole, the more powerful the being now inhabiting what remains. And the device, it becomes more a thing of power with each soul it devours. I would not have thought one could have been brought into my territory without my knowledge; I know one could not have been made within my territory without my knowing. It takes a great deal of power to create one, and a great deal of blood spilled in the process. Beware, Adayam, it relishes the souls with deeper 'taste', more 'crunch', and your werewolves would be most delectable for it. It also seeks the souls of those to whom damage has already been done; there, your werewolves are also in danger." 

"How do we recognize it, protect against it?" 

"That I must consider, must consult my books. I will be in touch," and she was gone. He walked back into the room. 

"A Soul Catcher. How did your people know?" 

"I've no idea, but I'm sure that's the thing she, the Grandmother, sent me after, well, partly anyway." 

"Sent you? To do what, tell us? She could have picked up the phone, I'm in the book." 

A look of annoyance crossed her freckled face, "Actually, I think she means for me to find it, destroy it, though it would have been nice if she'd told me that in the first place," and if the room had been silent before, it was nothing to the stillness now. 

"You???" came from a stocky dark-haired man sitting crosslegged on the floor. 

A raised brow, and imperious look that would have done justice to the Grandmother herself, "there is a problem with that, Wolf?" and a suppressed snort from Jesse and Mercy was the answer. "Werewolves tend to be slightly, uh, old-fashioned?" 

"You mean androcentric?" she asked, already knowing the answer. 

"Yes, well . . ." 

"Yes, I've heard that; obviously the Grandmother isn't. Well, she wouldn't be, now would she?" with a snort. 

"You say that like it's a title, the Grandmother," Mercy interruped. 

"It is, she's the Clan Leader, greatest of those in authority. So I have my grandma Meghada, and my grandma Caeide, but we ALL have the Grandmother!" 

"And is there a Grandfather?" came from the slinky blond woman in the corner. 

"No, not as a title, a position, sometimes there is a Consort, but he doesn't hold the position of power, she does." 

"A Matriarchy??!" from that same husky dark haired man sitting on the floor. 

He had such a note to his voice, she just had to say, solicitiously, "you probably shouldn't try to say the word again, Wolf, you'll strain your tonsils, do yourself an injury. With your permission, Alpha, I believe I will excuse myself; I have things to do." 

"Where can we find you," and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a card, "my cell phone, the Clan number if necessary." And with a pleasant look at those in the room, trying not to linger on the blond wolf on the couch, she left. And as she drove off into the night, "Ah, ma faol, who do I need to kill to bring you peace? Who?" 

*** 

"Mercy, I need a favor. A place, somewhere free of people, free of any who could be harmed a mile from the center point. I don't know the area, obviously, and maps can't tell me that sort of thing." She listened to the jumble of conversation at the other end of the line, then "an amusement park? Are you . . . Ah, abandoned. And no one goes there, no vagrants, no teenagers? I'd not want innocents to be caught up in this. Fine, I'll meet you and we can take a look." 

She tucked her phone back in her pocket, checked her bag, and headed out. She'd spent three days collecting all she would need, some of the sources being rather obscure and taking a bit of ferreting out. She had all the information she could find on the Pack, too, knew who was who, pretty much knew the dominance order, though what she'd found had her puzzled; there were at least three out of what she would have considered the proper order. Well, maybe that's how things worked best; the Alpha seemed to be one of the better one's she'd seen, caring more for making things go well for them rather than insisting on following the old rules to the letter. 

She liked Mercy, was impressed that a Walker could hold such a place, and then laughed to herself, knowing it was the personality and will that let her hold that place, that she could have held it as a full human even had she NOT been a Walker. She liked Jesse; the girl had wit, courage, and a steadfastness needed to be the full human daughter of an Alpha werewolf. 

Warren, Darryl, Honey, the others, some she liked more than others, but she disliked none of them, well, not yet. Time might change that, she knew. Warren's mate, Kyle, had more courage than most outside her own family; to buck society and a Pack, to be successful in his Bonding, in his profession, to stand his ground, that took a lot, she respected that. 

Ben, well, she found she couldn't think clearly about that wolf. She had his file, as she had all the others, but nothing to explain what she saw, what she felt inside him; nothing to explain the way she was drawn to him. Somehow, though, snippets of conversations from her grandmothers came back to her, explanations for when something her Grandda Goniff, her Grandda Peter had done, or said, or how they'd looked sometimes, those came back to her, and she thought that might be the explanation. Their spirit-brothers, her uncles too, sometimes, there was something there, and she wondered at the Outlanders, with the seemingly too prevelant notion that that which should only be shared willingly, that that was something to be taken by force, by coercion, by manipulation, even involving those who were truly children. It was no different among the Wolves, mostly, from what she had heard and seen, nor the Fae, nor most of the others, and she again thanked the Sweet Mother that she was Clan, as she had done so many, many times before. Now, she'd be facing another, perhaps several others, who thought they should be allowed to take, without heed for the wishes of the one they decided to take from. Well, that was something she was most willing to do, face them, and hopefully destroy them.

At the fast food restaurant at the side of the highway, she saw the VW, obviously old and well-used, the one Mercy had described. She pulled alongside and went in, to find the coyote sitting with Warren in a booth, sipping coffee. She slid in, "Thanks for meeting me." She looked at their solemn faces, "has something happened?" only to hear that something had been prowling around the pack house the night before, despite the wards their witch had put in place before she left town. They had all agreed that a demon possessing a witch would not be a good thing, so she and her family were now gone. 

"Then I'll try for tonight, if this place seems to be what I'll need." 

The two exchanged a glance, "what will you need from us?" to get a slight frown in return, "nothing, there's nothing your pack can add to this; it can either be done, with what I have, or it cannot; there is no sense in risking any of you to no good purpose! If I succeed, I will let you know; if I fail, the Grandmother will know, and will let you know to continue to be on guard til she can make other arrangements." 

They could not dissuade her, and together they drove to the old abandoned amusement park. She walked it, she felt the vibrations in the air. {"Yes, this will do."}. And she set in place that which would discourage any from trespassing here between now and then, would encourage any wildlife making their homes here to leave, at least for now. "Tonight, I'll draw it in, tonight the fight." 

They parted company, Warren and Mercy exchanging a worried look, M'Terra not returning to the small room she had rented. Once things were in motion, it was best to keep them that way, not providing a place for ambush. So she kept on the go for the rest of the afternoon, into the evening, only when it was near full dark returning to the park. Quickly but carefully she put everything in order, ready for the calling, but as she sent forth the 'call', there was a troubling in the wards, and she hurried to send away whoever had penetrated them. 

"What the bloody hell are you two doing here??!" she hissed, sounding much like she had in the pack house that night earlier in the week. 

She got a far too cheerful response, "since you wouldn't tell us what we could do to help, Adam called the Clan number; whoever he talked to told him you're up to this, though you'd do better with a 'goat', told him what would work best, and 'ta da!', one goat, one goatherd," as she stared appalled at Warren and Ben. "Adam would have come himself, but your people said that would hurt, not help. That whatever this is, could sense an Alpha and would run shy." 

"Do you have any IDEA what you are doing, what will happen while you are playing 'goat' and 'goatherd'??!" The hissing was greater now, and her eyes weren't brown now, they were pale emerald with tiny golden flecks. "Every nightmare within you will be called up! Every nightmare, every thing that has happened to you that you do NOT want to live through again, it is all fair game!" 

And the rumble of thunder came long and low across the sky, and she drew in her breath shortly, looking at them, with such dismay. "It's too late for me to send you away, they are almost here. Quickly, we have no choice now!" and she placed them as they should be, placing the lures she'd thought to use instead of live bait into their hands, closing the runes of protection around them; they would not be protected from the visions, no, but from the battle itself they would be safe; {"That is, of course, provided I win! If I should lose . . ."} looking at the two sitting there on the ground, shaking her head. Now she had even more reason to fight, to be sure she won that fight; that which she was bound to protect was in the line of fire. 

A brief touch to each of their heads, one of those more a faint caress, a tight lipped "hold steady, hold firm, do NOT panic, they can feed on panic," and the two werewolves looked at each other, raising startled brows at the idea that what she was expecting was something she might think would panic THEM! 

She went to stand at the place she had marked, and quickly removed her clothes, leaving her only in a light harness of tanned leather holding weapons of steel, weapons of bone and wood; the harness looked not quite right, a bit awkward, but it was made to accommodate her other form without binding when she shifted. 

She bent forward to light the small heap of twigs and shavings and herbs at her feet, and began to intone words they could almost, but not quite, make out the meaning of. And she'd been right, the visions came to them, things they wanted never to think of again, never to relive; in both their cases the attack that transformed them from men to werewolves was the least of what they saw, what they relived. And she could see their visions in front of them, and her anger raged, and she had to fight to keep it tight within her grip, harness it to use it as a weapon when it was needed. And as the visions came, she reached out and threw a pinch of the dried herbs from her belt pouch at them, and the visions melted in a fiery blaze, but still they came. 

Finally, they slowed, and took longer and longer to form, and the last ones were forming, almost at a crawl now. The one for Warren, it involved Kyle, and seemed to be a reinactment of something that had almost sundered them from one another, and that this was included in his nightmares, especially this last one, showed her just how much the human meant to the wolf. 

This one, for Ben, was sickeningly like onto most of the ones that had come before, so many, so much the same, so many nightmare visions masquerading as family portraits - the fair haired woman in elegant dress, hair well groomed, wearing pearls and heels, like an upper class Donna Reed; the man, big, bluff, moustached, air of authority - visions of how they'd used their position as parents, the ones who should protect and nurture and love - used that position for such betrayal of their responsibilities, such wrongdoing. And she pulled out the herbs, reaching inside herself, dropping just a dollop of bile, just a hint of piss and vinegar onto them before tossing them, and those two melted onto the patterned carpet in the room they were occupying, and the visions stopped, and she saw the two men, seated on the ground where she placed them, tears flowing from their eyes, though she doubted either were aware of it. 

It appeared on the ground in front of her 'goat' and 'goatherd', a small wooden flute, painted with symbols, a feeling of power eminating from it. And behind it the demons formed, three of them. {"Greedy bastards, they think to feed all three of us to that bloody trap!"} and she drew the sword of ivory colored bone, and saying the words of power, slashed it through the air to the right of the flute, then to the left. She holstered that sword, to draw the one of blackened metal, pointing the tip to the ground and slashing to the front and to the rear. Reaching out her hand, she caused the flute to slowly lift from the ground, to hover two feet in the air, and pulled the curved blade of ash that caught fire as it left the scabbard. With that blade she cut below and then above the flute, and hurled a word of power, and the flute exploded in a small cloud of dust and debris, all contained within those boundaries she had cut. 

With wild screams of fury, the demons rushed forward, and she shifted, no longer woman, but creature of legend, equal to the task of destroying them, these beings who threatened not just the stray human, stray Other, but one she thought she would like to call friend, one she knew was meant to be more than friend, at least in her sight, in her heart if never elsewhere. That flute, which would rebuild itself if she was vanquished here, and the demons who used it - if she failed here, would take these two, would try to take the others of the Pack, and go forth from there, stronger, hungrier than ever. 

And the fight was magnificent, and bloody, and the two men, the men and their wolves, could only watch as the wolf-creature with wings closed with the demons again and again, her jaws ripping fiery pieces from them, her paws somehow gripping those weapons and swinging them with deadly accuracy, her hot breath melting their limbs, the tuft of fur at the end of her tail parting to show and use a sting much like a scorpion's, til there was nothing left but the night, scorched places on the ground, a small heap of ash where the flute had been, and a battered and bleeding pile of fur. 

They weren't even sure she was still breathing as Warren pulled out his phone to call in the troops. The others were waiting, far enough away to keep from interferring, but close enough for this. They gathered the weapons, the harness and her clothes, wrapped her in blankets and carried her to the vehicles waiting. The ashes from the flute were gathered into a sealed container to give to Elizaveta to dispose of, unless the Clan thought of a better way. 

A frantic call to the Clan ensued, instructions relayed, care was given, and finally, in a safe room at the pack house, she was settled into a bed to rest and start to heal. She had shifted back to human and the damage was even more apparent than when she was wolf. Ben came in to stare down at her, at the open cuts, at the burns that would most likely leave scars, and she drowsily opened her eyes, and whispered faintly, "I killed them for you, ma faol; may they stay dead this time," smiled a tiny smile, and drifted off. And as she drifted into sleep, she shifted, again to become a heap of red fur, ridges along her sides now relaxed so you could see they were wings, and that long, totally absurd tail with the tuft of hair on the end, now rather singed, curled around her, and for the first time, he reached out to run his hand over her fur. He looked up to see Adam watching him, and in a hoarse, strained voice he asked, "that tail, what the bloody hell is that tail all about??!" And settled down on the floor beside her, to guard her, to watch her sleep. 

When Mercy stopped by later to check on them, he was asleep, slumped down with his back to the bed, head resting against it. She had shifted her position, still in her wolf form, but now with her resting behind him, on one side her nose nestled into the curve where his neck and shoulder met; on the other, her long tail was circled around and across his chest, his hands closed around it. He opened his eyes to look at Mercy, and in a very low voice, "I think maybe they won't be back this time." 

She realized, {"that's the first sentence I've ever heard from him that didn't involve cursing, other when he was talking about his old Alpha and the Clan."}. 

Then he rolled his eyes to her muzzle tucked up so close to his jugular vein, then down at his hands holding that long thick rope of a tail, ending in that absurd tuft of fur, and snorted, "freakin' wolf with wings. And just what the fuck is with that tail?" running his hands gently down the short fur on that tail. And Mercy saw that tiny smile, and the way he rubbed his face against the muzzle against his neck, and smiled at them and left, closing the door behind her. She went back into the living room, where Adam, Jesse and the others were gathered. 

"They doing okay?" Kyle asked, from his position beside Warren. 

"You know, I think they're doing just fine."


End file.
